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“It isn't as dull as you think.” My brother isn't judging me for needing a different kind of life, but I miss him. I choke back a sob. “Sorry, Brody.”
“Don't apologize—I understand why you need to do this. I'm an adult, and I can take care of myself.”
He’s my brother, and I'll always want to take care of him, but he’s giving me permission to live my life, and I’m grateful.
“How are the rehearsals for the show coming along? I've been watching the Facebook live feed but didn't see you in last week's show.”
“Everything was going fine, and I was on track to lead the show. But I had an accident during rehearsals.”
My heart races. “Are you injured?”
Brody doesn't answer right away. He's quiet. Unusually quiet. Please don't let him tell me he's hurt. “Brody?”
“I ripped the tendons off my left ankle. I'll be on crutches for six weeks,” he says.
“That's rough,” I say sympathetically while breathing a sigh of relief. Despite his flat tone, at least he isn't seriously injured.
No one in that place has insurance, and the boss, Freddy, has bizarre ways of treating the performers. And by bizarre, I mean he numbs them out on opiates and brings in a vet to set broken bones.
“What are you going to do for work while your foot heals?” I ask.
“I can’t do much with my leg the way it is. Freddy’s got me working at the ticket booth.”
“What about your motorbike? What’s the damage?”
“I cracked the frame when I slipped.”
A cracked frame doesn't sound too bad. “You can fix it, right?”
“Yeah, Dave's looking into it.”
“Dave. Okay.” I wrack my brain, trying to remember who Dave is.
The clock ticking on the kitchen wall is the only sound in the room. A sudden realization hits me, making the color drain from my face. “Do you mean Dodgy Dave? I thought he was locked up in prison.”
“He's out now, and he's developed a whole new set of skills,” Brody explains matter-of-factly.
“Ah, how comforting to know Freddy is hiring quality individuals.” I can't help the sarcasm dripping from my mouth. I'm furious with Freddy and with myself for leaving my brother behind.
“It's fine, sis. I've got it under control.”
“Brody. You're not riding a motorbike that's been welded together. It won't hold up to the pressure.”
Freddy is shady, without care for quality or safety. All he wants is an easy buck. We've heard of riders dying under similar circumstances, and it makes me sick to my stomach.
While I couldn't wait to leave the place behind, my brother has a viable future as a stunt rider. The circus is the only place to get the training he needs, and with the right experience, Brody can get a job at one of the big casinos in the future.
“Quit worrying, would you? Tell me about your new job. Have you cracked any cases?”
“The job is great, and it pays well. I'll need a few weeks to make it happen, but I promise you'll have a new bike for the show.”
Brody's exuberant whoop is so loud, it’s like he's right beside me.
I earn enough money to pay my bills and expenses, leaving little in savings. After taking out a loan, I've used up my credit line, and I won't be able to save enough money to buy a new bike in time for the show.
I need a second job. I frantically hunt for the want ads I threw away when I started working for Atlas. Unable to find them anywhere, desperation drives me to the trash, where I uncover crumpled paper scraps.
Sinful Sirens are offering a part-time bookkeeping position. They're paying high rates, making me think the job requires “creative accounting.” While a rowdy bar isn't my ideal place to hang out after work, it's only temporary.
